Meet Me At Midnight
by Unique .F
Summary: Pale, pale as death. Golden skin pale with death, so white to be a polished skull, her golden eyes like brilliant dragonfire flaring in their sockets, like the draugr lords haunting the ruins of eld. Sharp teeth, her lip curled back, gleaming white. Irileth has time enough to stiffen and scream before the dragonborn's fangs stab into her shadowy skin.
1. Chapter 1, Battle of Whiterun

**Hello people! **

_Chapter 1, The Battle of Whiterun_

The battle seemed endless.

An eternity of slashing, hacking, whirling, stabbing. Hearing the choked gurgle of men as she plunges her sword into their gut, holding their desperate eyes as they realised they were going to die. Feeling the savage satisfaction she always feels, the blood splashing against her dark skin, hot, warm, coppery, feeding the intense bloodthirst she harbours within. The furious frenzy every blooded warrior knows.

The hiss between her teeth when a brother of battle falls to the enemy's swiping, many-gauntleted sword. The hot fire when an arrow strikes her, when a blow lands, the desperation as she grabs at her belt for a healing potion- she can't be out already! – the relief when she drinks one.

The heavy breathing of the man she swore to protect, his armour gleaming with crimson lacquer- sap from a man's limbs. It is dark, but she can see. She's been trained to do this. She blends so seamlessly with the shadows, it's almost a game.

Hunting, killing, ending.

The stars watch above, each their own god, staring down with cold eyes at the desperate thrashes of men on the blood-soaked grounds. So much blood. So much blood, adding to the red haze clouding her vision, the scarlet spray flying from the arc of her sword.

She aches, it has been a long and weary battle. Why won't they give up? They can't take Whiterun.

_Not while I protect it, _she swears grimly, and feels a sharp twist of brutality as she sweeps the head clean off another enemy. She leaps over the convoluted landscape, the twisted, nightmarish battlefield, a mockery of the clean, airy city it had once been. Glassy staring eyes condemned her as she runs nimbly through the graveyard of the fallen to the steps of Jorrvaskr. The streams that had run dark and glimmering round the Gildergreen now flowed with ruby.

Rivers of blood, gushing torrents.

"Irileth!" The man cries, and she snaps around immediately, her bow knocked and an arrow through the eye of her charge's attacker before she can blink. She doesn't pause to retrieve the arrow- she grasps the Jarl's hand, pulls him up the slippery steps. The bleak line of the Companions, their hardened faces frenzied with battlelust, yields only briefly for the slightest moment for them to slip through, like bloody wisps.

Irileth kneels at Balgruuf's side. He is wounded, he breathes harshly, with effort. She looks at him, there are no words that need to be said. She yanks the arrow out, he grunts between his teeth. She uses precious magicka, the only gift the gods saw fit to give her damned kind, and feels her hands warm with the healing spell she uses. He breathes easier now, there is a fierce spark in his eye that she knows.

She staggers upwards, grasps a stamina potion and downs it quickly, wincing at the acrid aftertaste. Balgruuf follows suit, and grabs his greatsword. They head forward again, the death of the attackers their only goals.

The Stormcloaks are swarming over the city like termites, slaughtering anything that comes in their path. And at their head, the beautiful, golden-skinned, honey-worded betrayer of Whiterun. Irileth can hardly believe they ever trusted the tricky high elf with the soul of a dragon. Let alone made her Thane. Let alone gave her a house to live in and a housecarl to fight with.

She grips her sword tighter and vows to kill the dragonborn.

It seems her wish is answered for at that moment, the Dovahkiin approaches, clad in dark ebony armour with a mask covering her pale face, her burning golden eyes. What had Ulfric promised her, Irileth wonders savagely, gold, riches, or something else?

"Balgruuf!" The dragonborn cries, her proud voice rich with scorn. "Stop hiding behind the greyskin's back and face me, coward!"

The Jarl shouts with fury at the sight of the traitor. Irileth draws her bow and slinks into the shadows, the midnight wrapping her deep into the night's embrace.

They circle, and the dragonborn taunts the jarl, while he glares at her, eyes narrowed in betrayal for her treachery. It was she who lead the Stormcloaks, under the cover of night, into the city under the guise of partygoers at her home. It was she who cold-bloodedly murdered the captain of the guard in his sleep.

Hot, rage, anger. She wished there was a dragonshout that would destroy this bitch, rip her to bloody pieces and scraps.

She nocks and arrow. Aims carefully. She can't afford to miss.

For her day of death had come.

And just as she fires, Balgruuf leaps forward.

Her arrow catches him square between the shoulders. He hisses in pain and swings around to confront his new attacker. A fatal move. Irileth watches, frozen with horror, as the dragonborn callously lifts her blade and drives it through the jarl's stomach.

The world seems to slow down. She barely hears the scream that erupts from her throat as that cruel ebony blade emerged out of Balgruuf's back, the tip gleaming with his dark ruby blood.

The sword hits the ground with a finalistic crash. The jarl's eyes protrude as he stares down at the blade.

_I killed him._

Then he topples backwards.

_I failed._

"NO!" Irileth charges forwards, grabbing her sword. The dragonborn turned to face her, gloating, her golden eyes alight with fire and fury as her dragon soul.

"FUS-RO DAH!"

A cannonball hits Irileth's stomach. She flies backward, crumples into the side of Jorrvaskr. Blackness overwhelm her vision. Stars flash. Pain.

And her face, above hers, pale as death, gaunt, stretched tightly over her elfin bones, her golden eyes like fire, slitted, her flaring nostrils, the madness. Her eyes burned like golden dragonfires in her pale, pale face, like a polished skull, her skin flexing with inestimably uncountable lines.

The world slows.

Irileth stares into the dragon's eyes.

She knows she will die. An odd calm descends over her. _I'm so sorry, Balgruuf, _she whispers, _I failed you._

The shadows creep over her skin. The blood runs down her neck.

The dragon's eyes.

Piercing golden flame.

"Irileth."

Her name.

She quails. She hears the cries of the Companions as they are slaughtered.

Lips draw back over sharp fangs. A dark blade touches Irileth's collarbone. The dragon kneels over her, pressing her thumbs against Irileth's neck. She feels so cold. Irileth shivers, trying to jerk back from the traitor's touch, but she could not move.

The dark elf's blood pumps out of a shallow cut on her head- warm and hot and coppery.

The dragon is hungry.

So very, very hungry.

The dragon drops the sword, grasps her shoulders. Irileth's limbs feel like bags of sand. She is helpless as the dragonborn stares at the blood trailing slowly down her neck. A frenzied growl erupts from between the other elf's teeth. The hood collapses around her neck, her golden neck. And Irileth sees.

The dragon's eyes narrow in satisfaction as she hears the dark elf's gasp of fear and horror.

Pale, pale as death. Golden skin pale with death, so white to be a polished skull, her golden eyes like brilliant dragonfire flaring in their sockets, like the draugr lords haunting the ruins of eld. Sharp teeth, her lip curled back, gleaming white.

Irileth has time enough to stiffen and scream before the dragonborn's fangs stab into her shadowy skin.

**I know Balgruuf and Irileth don't actually fight you if you take Whiterun with the Stormcloaks, nor is there an option of killing either of them, but, hey. It's called improvisation, people. And by way of explanation- the dragonborn mentioned repeatedly is a high elf, and also a vampire. She doesn't just have a fetish for biting dark elves and slathers herself in extremely pale foundation or something. **


	2. Chapter 2, Awakening

_Chapter 2, Awakening_

Fire!

She was on fire! Burning flames licking up her arms, over her body, over her skin! Instinctively she thought to direct the fire, push it away. Fire was her friend, fire obeyed her.

But not this time. The fire was angry, it roughly snarled and crackled. She screamed.

The pain was horrible, shocking. She scrambled up, and rolled quickly on the floor, like she had been taught, but that served only to exacerbate her pain. It was too bright. Glaring against her eyelids. She scrambled for something, found a splintered wood, fell over it. She cried out again, the wood scratched her hands.

But it was blessedly cool inside. Wherever she was.

She gasped in relief.

The fire left, melted away. She collapsed.

* * *

_I gasped. I raked my nails down my arms, gritting my teeth tightly, shuddering. Inside of me the hunger growled, spread out, like a hunting lithe cat. _Take him, _it purred._

_The Nord held my eyes with his own stony cold ones. The dagger in his hand was red. Crimson, gorgeous, vermilion. The cut on his arm bled._

_I was fast losing control. I pressed myself back against the wall, my nails digging into the crevices in the ancient stone. "Ulfric!"_

* * *

She jolted awake. The shadows across her skin felt cool and welcoming. She opened her eyes. The darkness held no barrier for her. They pierced the gloom like lanterns. She was in a hall, demolished, obviously. Tables stained with blood and wine had been smashed, overturned. There was the sullen embers of a dying fire in the center. Trampled food had been mushed into the stone floor. A woman's body lay naked, discarded like an old rag. There was a sword sticking from her gut. She looked vaguely familiar. There was a gigantic wolf sprawled next to her, its muzzle dark with dried blood.

She stumbled to her feet. She felt like everything was a dream. She stepped outside. Looked up at the stars. They whirled above her, cold, winking patrons.

She stood in the dark, felt the wind coil against her skin. Her armour had been ripped mostly off her, she stood in the rags of her clothes she wore underneath it. Her hip felt light without her sword. But she could not care less.

Everything felt as in razor sharp detail. She looked around. She could see every crevice, every crack in the Talos statue. A golden robed figure lay bloody at the bottom. She growled, rolled her shoulders, laid her head back. She was hungry.

* * *

_I knelt before him, my hunger a ravening, clutching his arm tightly, licking at the bloo__d. Its delicious gorgeous taste sent shocking feelings through me. I needed more. I wanted more. I barely heard the fevered growls rumbling from my throat._

_He did not resist me, he was drunk with my power. He had sold his soul to hell and he didn't even care._

* * *

She stalked through the night. The battleground felt like home. Bodies had been abandoned, their glassy eyes staring at her. She paused in the marketplace, saw another woman slumped by the well. She approached cautiously. She was so very hungry. One tentative sniff at the corpse told her not to drink. Suddenly, she heard the heavy tramp of boots. Her head snapped up, she dropped into a crouch. She snarled, low and guttural in hunger. The man emerged, walked down the stairs between the two rivers. He caught sight of her, grabbed his sword.

"Citizen!" He said sharply. "What are doing out here?"

She had scented him. Her heart thudded quickly. She could see the flushing of his cheeks, the heat of the blood, or the hot warm living heart. She wanted it. Oh, she wanted it!

He had barely a moment to scream before she leaped at him.

* * *

_A drum. A giant beating a drum, running, his feet pounding against a backdrop of scarlet and onyx, chasing another giant close in front of him, also beating a drum. They were speeding up, their footsteps shaking the very earth as they ran, thudding their drums wildly. Always in beat. The font of life felt at my lips, the strong shape of his shoulders._

_One of the giants was running faster, overtaking the other one. His feet hammered into the ground, his drum thumped wildly, faster and faster and faster..._

_I felt hands grab my shoulders, rip me away. I screamed like a wild thing, clawing for it, the blood, the blood, the blood!_

* * *

She held him, crushing him in her grip, heard bones pop out of their sockets, but she didn't care, the blood, the blood, that was all that mattered. Hot throbbing delicious blood, pouring down her throat.

"Vampire!" She didn't hear the shout, but she felt the fire.

Fire! She screamed, tearing away from her victim, who crumpled to the ground like a spent ragdoll, batting at the flames curling over her cold skin. She screeched in rage. The wizard stood before in dark blue robes, his wide eyes shocked and fearful. He had flames curling in his palm, licking at his fingertips. Behind him, two soldiers aimed their bows.

The first arrow caught her in the shoulder.

* * *

_A sharp pain stabbed my shoulder as the guard drove his dagger deep into my flesh. The pain jolted me, brought me panting to my senses. I bared my bloodstained teeth at the guard. He reeked of fear. He released me immediately, once I did not attack him. I wanted to kill him, but I decided not to. He was on my side, after all. I stalked out of the hallway towards Ulfric Stormcloak's private chambers. The guards at the door knew better than to stop me. I pushed past them, let myself in._

_I went immediately to the bed. He was conscious, I was surprised. His face was as pale as mine had been before I had drunk of his blood. A healing spell warmed my hands as I went to his side, stroked his cheek. _

"_You should stop making me do this to you," I told him, placing healing hands on his throat._

"_Yes..." He sighed as the magic took effect, but there was darkness in his eyes when he looked at me._

* * *

The guards didn't stand a chance. She attacked them with her bare hands, glorifying in the blood as it splashed, warm and coppery over her hands. She was distracted by the violent, messy deaths of the two soldiers- she almost forgot about the wizard.

She was sharply reminded when a burst of fire exploded against her back. She screamed again, feeling her skin burn up like oil-dipped rags. Enraged, she turned and jumped for the wizard's throat. His eyes widened in shock of recognition as she grabbed him by the shoulders, using her force and momentum to push him down.

"Irileth?" He had time to gasp before she cracked his skull like an egg.

**Hello again! Feral vampire Irileth... In case you were wondering, the wizard was actually Farengar. I never liked him. He was annoying, kept telling me "Off to Bleak Falls Barrow with you!" until I finally did the damn quest and then all he said was, "You know, if you have the aptitude, you should join the mages college in Winterhold." The italics were from the dragonborn's pov.**


	3. Chapter 3, Dark Dawn

_Chapter 3, Dark Dawn_

When she regained her senses, her lips felt sore and burned.

There was something heavy and cold weighing down her body. She could feel the minute squirming of a worm against her left calf. Something wooden had been stuck in her mouth- a tube, with a long narrow hole.

Irileth opened her eyes, and immediately wished she hadn't. Blinking furiously, she tried to clear the soil from her eyes. The oppressive earth crowded around her, clammy hands groping her into its dark depths. The dark elf struggled, panicking, biting down hard on the wood thing. She was freezing, and her lips really, really hurt.

"Help!" she tried to shout, but the tube was in her mouth and she dared not to pull it out. She breathed in and found the tube choked with fallen soil from her thrashing. Unable to breathe, and stuck underground who knew how deep, Irileth, who had hated enclosed spaces since she was a little girl, was terrified. But she had not been a warrior for so long by losing her mind when she was frightened.

She closed her mouth, conserved her breath, and focused her mind. She felt her hand chill and turned her thoughts to the pool of magicka that ran like blood in her veins.

An atronach. She shuddered at the thought of fire, instead, frost. Thank the Neverine she still managed to remember how to summon one. But you could never really forget spells, she thought to herself, they were ingrained into your mind.

She charged the spell. Her lungs needed air and she was getting dizzy but she doggedly held back. She felt the spell reach completeness, when it hurt to hold it any longer. She released it, and heard the telltale whoosh as the atronach was summoned.

Irileth maintained strict control of the spell even after it was summoned. It had taken her a long time to learn how to precisely control an atronach through the bond of summoning. She ordered the atronach to dig, knowing she had conjured it in the freest space closest to her aim.

She heard sounds as the atronach scooped great handfuls of soil away from her body, its ice spike hands flattening into spades for easier use. All of a sudden, a beam of refracted moonlight-shone through the atronach- half blinded her. She blinked frantically, and her eyes quickly adjusted. The frost atronach dug her out quickly, and then stood dumbly by while she sat up quickly, jerkily. Too quickly. A rush of dizziness accosted her.

Supporting herself with her hands, the dark elf stared down at the loose soil, and at the wooden flute half buried in it.

_What am I doing here? _Irileth wondered. She was cold, it was night, and she had nothing but a wooden flute and the scraps of her clothes. She could not turn up in a town like this, it would only raise questions as to why a woman was travelling alone in rips and rags. Her matted hair fell in front of her face. She brushed it out of the way irritably. And she severely doubted that they would think she was a bard run-down on her luck.

Her surroundings didn't give her much clues either. A sparkling river emptied into a glimmering lake around her- she was on an island. Several trees rose into the heavy mist. The clammy vapour condensed on her skin. She shivered, although she didn't actually feel that cold.

She couldn't remember anything. Her last memory was of golden eyes studded with stars. She had been fighting...fighting what? The memories slipped away from her like wriggling fish in a stream. The dark elf slowly got to her feet, and as an afterthought, picked up the wooden flute. She had no idea what for, but it could prove useful.

She had no belt or pockets left- at this point, her clothes were more like rips with some cloth hanging in there to hold it together. Her shadow-dark skin clearly showed- she was filthy. She stumbled forward. She could bathe herself in the lake. She hesitated at the shallows, then contemptuously tore the rags off herself and washed them quickly. They weren't helpful on her body, but maybe she could reuse them.

She stepped into the lake. It was icy cold.

Shivering, Irileth poured water over herself, scrubbed the dirt from her hair and skin. She was appalled at her state. She looked literally as if she had spent the night in the mud.

Glad to finally be rid of the mud caking her like a second skin, Irileth clambered out of the water and began doing exercises to keep herself warm while she drip-dried. She had no wish to catch any illnesses from chill.

Normally, she would have simply summoned the fire within herself and be as dry as bone within seconds, but she shrank from the idea of any flame. She had no idea to this sudden aversion to an element as natural to her as breathing, but she did know she wanted nothing to do with it.

Finally, she deemed herself dry enough. Her breath came in fast pants. She was slightly unnerved that her breath made no puffs in the cold Skyrim air, nor could she hear her heart, which should be thudding in her ears, but put it aside. Obviously she was fitter than she had thought? The burn in her muscles protested against that but Irileth ignored it.

She bent and collected the rags, and decided to wash them too. Pushing her damp hair behind her ears, the dark elf knelt by the lakeside, feeling the mud squish against her skin and grimacing. She dipped each rag in the water, tearing the remains of her clothes into long strips. She scrubbed them diligently.

Suddenly she caught sight of a stranger in the water. Instinctively she jumped back, her hand going immediately to her side for her sword. She felt a resounding emptiness when she realised shockingly it wasn't there. She formed another conjuration spell quickly and made herself a bound sword. She gripped the magical hilt, relieved to have some sort of weapon in her hand again. The purple edges of the sword flickered and danced.

She approached cautiously when there was no movement for several seconds. Obviously the mystery person was hiding until she relaxed her guard until attacking. Irileth wasn't that stupid.

She had crouched there for almost half an hour before she decided to approach again. Maybe she had frightened them away...

As she reached the water's edge, Irileth frowned. It was too shallow for swimmers, and she would have noticed if someone had crept up behind her. The dark elf laughed. It was no obvious what had happened- she had been shocked by her own reflection. She released the spell and felt the weight in her hand disappear. She felt unusually light, and tired.

It had been a while since she had used magic. She needed to get back into the habit. Irileth vowed to herself she would not let her skills deteoriate so again. The Dunmer knelt down again at the water and gazed down at herself.

She gasped in shock and horror, started back.

"No!"

But the face would not go away. The pale, sallow face, drawn gaunt around the bones like a skull, and the eyes, bright golden and staring out with knowing, terrible fire, the strong brow ridges, the inhumanly sharp pearly teeth.

The face of a vampire.

**I'm sorry to all of you guys who have been reading this- a grand total of three. But I promise, the summary will stop chopping and changing- I'm just going to leave it be. I have no luck with summaries.**


	4. Chapter 4, Guilt

_Chapter 4, Guilt_

_What have I become?_ The Dunmer whispered, digging her nails so deeply into her palms she drew blood.

She stared down at the face reflected back at her in the rippling lake's surface, pale grey skin, with yellow ochre eyes burning with a hungry, seductive glint, the shape of her bones underneath her skin- she traced them, with abject horror-, the dagger teeth, like sharpened pearls fitted into a terribly ruby mouth.

"How did this happen to me?" Irileth murmured aloud, and the face in the lake copied her expression, eyes wide with fear and mouth parted in disbelief. She couldn't think of it as _her _face.

A sudden slam of memories caught her off guard and Irileth involuntarily swayed.

The dragon's eyes...

_...So much blood. So much blood, adding to the red haze clouding her vision, the scarlet spray flying from the arc of her sword. _

_She aches, it has been a long and weary battle. Why won't they give up? They can't take Whiterun._

_Not while I protect it, she swears grimly, and feels a sharp twist of brutality as she sweeps the head clean off another enemy..._

_...The Stormcloaks are swarming over the city like termites, slaughtering anything that comes in their path. And at their head, the beautiful, golden-skinned, honey-worded betrayer of Whiterun. Irileth can hardly believe they ever trusted the tricky high elf with the soul of a dragon. Let alone made her Thane. Let alone gave her a house to live in and a housecarl to fight with._

_She grips her sword tighter and vows to kill the dragonborn..._

_...Hot, rage, anger. She wished there was a dragonshout that would destroy this bitch, rip her to bloody pieces and scraps. _

_She nocks and arrow. Aims carefully. She can't afford to miss._

_For her day of death had come. _

_And just as she fires, Balgruuf leaps forward._

_Her arrow catches him square between the shoulders. He hisses in pain and swings around to confront his new attacker. A fatal move. Irileth watches, frozen with horror, as the dragonborn callously lifts her blade and drives it through the jarl's stomach..._

_...The sword hits the ground with a finalistic crash. The jarl's eyes protrude as he stares down at the blade._

I killed him.

_Then he topples backwards._

I failed.

"_NO!" Irileth charges forwards, grabbing her sword. The dragonborn turned to face her, gloating, her golden eyes alight with fire and fury as her dragon soul..._

_...And her face, above hers, pale as death, gaunt, stretched tightly over her elfin bones, her golden eyes like fire, slitted, her flaring nostrils, the madness. Her eyes burned like golden dragonfires in her pale, pale face, like a polished skull, her skin flexing with inestimably uncountable lines..._

_...frozen in place, held by the dragon's eyes..._

_...The dragon drops the sword, grasps her shoulders. Irileth's limbs feel like bags of sand. She is helpless as the dragonborn stares at the blood trailing slowly down her neck. A frenzied growl erupts from between the other elf's teeth. The hood collapses around her neck, her golden neck. And Irileth sees._

_The dragon's eyes narrow in satisfaction as she hears the dark elf's gasp of fear and horror..._

_...to stiffen and scream before the dragonborn's fangs stab into her shadowy skin..._

_...the pounding, the weakness, struggling to fight back but she can't too late too late the dragon above her as solid as rock immovable no..._

_...Fire._

_She was on fire. Burning flames licking up her arms, over her body, over her skin. Instinctively she thought to direct the fire, push it away. Fire was her friend, fire obeyed her._

_But not this time. The fire was angry, it roughly snarled and crackled. She screamed..._

_...The shadows across her skin felt cool and welcoming. She opened her eyes. The darkness held no barrier for her. They pierced the gloom like lanterns. She was in a hall, demolished, obviously..._

_...everything was a dream..._

_...She was so very hungry..._

_...She had scented him. Her heart thudded quickly. She could see the flushing of his cheeks, the heat of the blood, or the hot warm living heart. She wanted it. Oh, she wanted it!_

_He had barely a moment to scream before she leapt at him..._

_...the flames curling over her cold skin. She screeched in rage. The wizard stood before in dark blue robes, his wide eyes shocked and fearful..._

_...The guards didn't stand a chance. She attacked them with her bare hands, glorifying in the blood as it splashed, warm and coppery over her hands..._

_...Enraged, she turned and jumped for the wizard's throat. His eyes widened in shock of recognition as she grabbed him by the shoulders, using her force and momentum to push him down._

"_Irileth?" He had time to gasp before she cracked his skull like an egg..._

_..running, running, the fire was everywhere!..._

_...water running into water blessed relief but it wasn't working scrabbling at the soil..._

_...relief..._

"NO!" she stumbled away from the water's edge, her eyes wetting with tears that would never fall. _I killed him. _"No..." she whimpered brokenly, and sank to the damp grass, hugging her knees to her chest. Her shoulders heaved and hiccupping, tearless sobs shook her frame.

Guilt slammed into her. _If only I hadn't fired that arrow. If only I'd waited for a clearer shot. If only I'd convinced him to stay in Dragonsreach. If only I had attacked the dragonborn first. If only I'd surrendered. If only he hadn't been so stubborn..._

She felt like screaming at the sky, ranting and raving, cursing each and every daedric and aedric god who'd failed her, failed him. _I failed him. I failed you, Balgruuf..._

_I never told you..._

_I don't deserve to live..._

She wept helplessly by the water's edge. Rolled onto her back, stared up at the sky hidden by the mist, dug her hands into the soil. Savagely she wished someone would come upon her, a bandit, a troll, even a goddamn dragon, to end what she was too cowardly to.

I'm too much of a weakling...I am too weak, too frail to protect...I should have never attempted it...Why did I try...anyone else would have saved him...what is wrong with me...

_I could have saved him...I should have tried! _

"But I didn't." _I left him._

_I broke my vows...My friend.._

"He always thought...he always believed..."

_I betrayed you._

She ripped at her skin with her nails, screaming, crying, attacking anything, barely registering the pain, the warmth in her hand as she conjured the fire. She barely noticed her superhuman strength as she threw herself at the tree before her, attacking it with claws and teeth, snarling, growling ripping into it with every ounce of strength she possessed helpless why didn't I save him I could have I WANT TO DIE!  
I killed him. Irileth whispered. "I KILLED HIM!" She shouted, hearing her cry echo over the mountains.

_I loved him._

* * *

"Jarl Balgruuf is dead, my lord," I announced.

I knelt at the bottom of the throne, although we both knew it was but a formality for Jorleif's sake. If the common people knew the depth of involvement we shared...Blood would out.

I felt my lips curl over my teeth in a smirk. And not just Ulfric's, this time.

"His housecarl too, I assume?" Ulfric Stormcloak asked me.

"Of course," I purred.

He already knew all of this, of course. I had told him it all the previous night while I healed him. It was his fault, obviously. He shouldn't provoke a girl like that. My mouth dried out as I remembered how the dagger had pierced his arm, tracing a narrow, dangerous path between the veins. How the blood had trickled down his flesh...

I dragged myself sternly back to the present as Galmar began to speak.

"That was a bad move, soldier," Galmar Stone-Fist said disapprovingly. "It will lose us the support of some of the jarls."

"And terrify the rest of them," I said smoothly, "Into submitting."  
_Especially if I told them how I killed that grey-skin..._

Galmar snorted. "I doubt it. Nords are as stubborn as-"  
"Files," I interrupted, daring to glance up at Ulfric. The jarl raised one eyebrow, but his eyes were silently laughing at the inside joke. I had often remarked to him that Nords were like files- hammer them all you want, they'll never bend, only break.

He had replied, of course, that high elves were like snakes. I had to agree with him on that point. At least, _I _was.

Galmar gave me a suspicious look. I knew the housecarl didn't trust me- no one trusted me. Not even Ulfric...But Ulfric was in far too deep for his own safety to matter to him anymore. I personally, would rather just kill Galmar- he was easily replaceable, but Ulfric was annoyingly fond of the stupid soldier. One day...

"How was the battle?" The jarl of Windhelm asked me. I tilted my head, remembering it with a delighted shudder. How they had screamed...

"Pitiful," I stated arrogantly, and inclined my hooded head to the jarl. "If you would excuse me, my lord?"

"Of course, Dragonborn."

I smirked as I rose to my feet and stalked silently out of the Palace of Kings. I needed to find Calixto, the so called 'Butcher'. He was blowing my cover.

Of course, _I _was the real butcher. But the people of Windhelm didn't need to know that.

* * *

"_Irileth is all the protection I need," The Jarl said with a smile, "Stop worrying, brother."_

_The other Nord humphed irritably and sent the dark elf a look blacker than her skin. The young housecarl gripped the hilt of her sword and glared at him. She would be the best housecarl Whiterun had ever seen...that would show them. The Jarl was her best friend and only companion- there was no way she was abandoning him for some stupid Nord._

_The young elf edged slightly closer to her charge. _I am your sword and your shield, my lord, _she recited in her head silently, _and I'll protect you and all you own with my life...

* * *

..._Days, weeks, months, a year, two years, passed. He was not just her charge- he was her only friend, too. Being a housecarl was lonely. She didn't have time to go out and meet others, but she didn't care, because being a housecarl also meant she could stay by the jarl's side all the time._

_When night fell, she worried desperately- she was not allowed into the jarl's personal room that he shared with his wife, Amelie, unless there was danger, for sake of his privacy. She lay in her bed, fully dressed in her armour, just in case. Gripped her sword, and tried to quash the bitterness in her heart. Amelie was his _wife _for Azura's sake. And she was just...a friend...a housecarl..._

* * *

_..."My lord," the midwife said, rocking the screaming bundle in her arms, "You have a son."_

_The jarl rose to his feet.. He cradled his son, an expression of the deepest joy, wonder and love written over his features. A dagger stabbed in Irileth's heart. Barely an hour into the infant's life and he had already won a deep love from the jarl whereas she-_

_-was only a housecarl. A housecarl was still a housecarl, even if they were friends, who kept forgetting her place._

"_Amelie?" Balgruuf asked, worriedly._

_The midwife looked away. "There have been complications, my lord-"_

"_Amelie!" The jarl turned his shoulder to the door, protecting the baby, as he burst into the infirmary._

_Irileth quickly jumped up to follow him. The midwife paused her at the door, looking at the Dunmer with uncertainty. The housecarl glared at her venomously, daring her to tell her to her face that she was not allowed in because of her race._

_The midwife stepped aside, and Irileth hurried after Jarl Balgruuf. _

_She caught sight of what must have been Amelie. The fair Nord woman was lying pale-faced on the sumptuous pillows, her body covered by a fresh white blanket. She looked exhausted. Irileth had never had children, but she was shocked by the sudden feminine sympathy she felt with a woman she had always disliked. Balgruuf stopped by his wife, and glanced around uncomfortably for someone to give his baby son to. Irileth stepped forward at the jarl's side._

_He looked at her gratefully, and made as if to give the child to her. _

"_What are you doing, Balgruuf?" Amelie asked her husband, sounding puzzled. _

_Irileth swallowed at the unfairness of it all. Trust Nords to be eternally and completely unaware of their own racism. "Amelie," Balgruuf murmured lovingly, and without a thought handed the child over to Irileth. The dark elf rocked the Nord baby, who predictably, began to wail._

_It seemed even babies detested her for her grey skin..._

* * *

_...Two weeks later Amelie died from 'complications'. It was Irileth who quietly arranged for a nurse for the baby boy while the Jarl stood there, shocked to his core. It was Irileth who later held Balgruuf while he wept in her arms, and all she could think about was that the very first time she had Balgruuf where she wanted him Amelie had managed to ruin it even after death..._

* * *

_...Three years since Amelie's death, and the child was growing well. Balgruuf spoiled him, Irileth thought to herself fondly. On that night they were standing together on the balcony. Irileth dressed in her leather armour, Balgruuf in his fine clothes with his greatsword slung over his back. The moon shone above them like a pearly eye. The stars were like studded jewels._

_Irileth approached the jarl nervously. She had to tell him. "Balgruuf..."_

"_Irileth?" The jarl turned, looking surprised. "I didn't know you'd followed me out here."_

_She was glad of her darker skin- it hid her blush. "I- er..." She scrambled for words, desperately._

_Luckily Balgruuf didn't seem to notice her flounder. "It's a beautiful night, isn't it?"_

"_Err- yes, yes," She blurted. _

"_Irileth?" He questioned, turning to face her. She quailed under the force of his gaze. _

_She mentally ridiculed herself. She had faced down insurmountable foes and fought uncountable enemies and yet here she was, tongue-tied at a mere man. _A handsome man though..._her mind drawled._

"_I...I..." Her nerve failed. "It's nothing." She blushed deeply. _

Coward, _she cursed herself..._

* * *

_...They had finally begun to accept her, through diligence and hard work, she was starting to earn respect in the hearts of the Nords of Whiterun. Maybe one day they wouldn't take their children away when she approached, or Eorlund maybe would finally allow her to buy his superior weapons, or maybe one day, they wouldn't whisper, _"grey-skin" _behind her back, and instantly blame her whenever someone fell ill..._

* * *

_...She coughed up her own blood. The Nords watched her with a mix of horror and satisfaction. The young Grey-Mane who had stabbed stood over her with a triumphant smirk. No one had stopped him, when he had sneaked up behind her while his two friends brawled, drawing her attention. She pressed her hands over the wound, her eyes filling with tears. The marketplace was eerily silent._

_She fell to her knees, more of her red blood dribbling out of her mouth. They must have been surprised she bled like them. "Is this..." she gasped, "What you wanted? Can you...stop hating me now?" She half-pleaded. _

_She pushed out her hands, crimson with her blood. Blackness started shroud her vision. She swayed, fell sideways, onto the cold cobbles. The last thing she saw was the horrified, uncertain face of a guard staring down at her..._

* * *

_..."I'm sorry, housecarl," the guard said quietly when she passed him. Irileth stopped short, shocked. They had never addressed her by her title before. It was always, 'dark elf' or 'grey-skin'. _

"_Irileth," another greeted her as he walked his rounds. _

_She walked down into the marketplace, uneasily glancing around at the Nords, avoiding the place she'd been stabbed. She could still remember the feeling of cold steel in her guts. She saw young Mila's mother standing with her child and wearily waited for the woman to pull her child away before she could see the dark elf. To her surprise, the woman bent down and whispered something in Mila's ear. The girl nodded and ran up to Irileth. _

"_I got you some flowers," the child said, looking up at her with bright round eyes, and offered her a few straggly wildflowers. "We had to go all the way to Riverwood to get them so you could have them for when you got better." _

_Irileth's eyes shone with tears that she blinked back before they could fall. "Thank you, child," she whispered, and looked around at the Nords gathered around the marketplace. "Thank you," she repeated. She thought she saw Eorlund's wife smile at her before she turned away..._

* * *

_...They had all had too much to drink. _

_But the mighty tusks of the six mammoths was enough to make even the most shy grab a drinking cup. Let alone the two giant corpses. _

_They were so drunk faces blurred, Irileth had extreme difficulty staying upright. Eventually she found herself on the floor by the firepit. _

_The jarl downed drinks like a true Nord. "You've got no belly for mead, Irileth!" he exclaimed a little too loudly, his words slurred. _

_She found herself laughing with the rest of the drunken revellers._

"_Get up, Irileth!" a guard by the name of Jordun shouted drunkenly, "Come on!" He grabbed her wrist and hauled her upright. Irileth swayed and fell into Jordun's chest. The man's eyes brightened, excited, Irileth knew what was next. She staggered away and ended up caught by another handy guard._

_Pushed from guard to guard, Irileth stumbled around, disorientated and they all knew it, drunk out of her senses. It was like a bizarre game of catch the dark elf._

_Jordun had her again, but he didn't shove her on, he pressed her against a pillar instead. "Let's go..." he growled._

_She pushed back when he tried to kiss her, and ended up sprawled over Balgruuf. Balgruuf laughed and wrapped one strong arm around her waist. "Hands off my housecarl!" He shouted. She knew it was a game but she was drunk, and the drink had given her courage. She lay back in his half embrace and put her hand on his chest..._

* * *

_..."My head," she moaned. It felt like a giant was stomping on her skull. As if she had been dumped in a burning plane of Oblivion reserved especially for her own torture. _

_She registered the fact she was in a bed. She opened her eyes blearily, wincing. _

"_Divines and Daedra," Irileth swore._

_She knew this room. This was the jarl's private bedchamber. She closed her eyes and felt her cheeks heat up as the owner of the room stepped into the room, already dressed, looking sour, but about a thousand times better than she was with her mussed hair and reeking of ale. The dark elf, blushing, pulled the cover up to her chin._

"_Good morning," the jarl said grumpily. "Here." He passed her a cup of hot tea..._

* * *

..._They never mentioned that night again, and Irileth developed a phobia of getting drunk. She was incredibly glad that Balgruuf accredited everything to being completely out-of-her-face. Irileth vowed not to ever take part in a Nordic celebration. Next time, she would just stay with the women, who were all giving her nudges and making pointed remarks that clearly told the humiliated housecarl they had guessed what had gone on..._

* * *

_...Time went on and soon it seemed as if she had lived in Whiterun in all her life. She was as much a Nord as any of the rest, despite her darker skin and embarrassingly low tolerance to mead. It only took a two tankards or so to make her tipsy. It wasn't as if she needed to worry though. Not with the townsfolk reminding her every day..._

* * *

_..."What is the meaning of this intrusion?" Irileth challenged, "The jarl is not receiving visitors." She glared at the beautiful high elf who stared proudly at her as if she were nothing more than a speck of dirt beneath her shoe._

"_I was at Helgen when the dragon attacked," she announced in a clear, bell like voice. _

"_Well, that explains why the guards let you in," Irileth said dryly. _

"_Let her approach, Irileth," Balgruuf ordered. Swallowing, and glaring at the high elf, Irileth sheathed her sword..._

* * *

_..."No offense Irileth, but you ain't a Nord. You don't understand." The guard said apologetically.  
Standing by the bones of the dead dragon, Irileth replied sharply, "I have seen many things just as outlandish as this. Here's a dead dragon. That's something I do understand. Someone who can kill it is enough for me." _

_The high elf who claimed to be dragonborn sent her one last scornful glance and stalked away. Irileth snorted to herself as all the guards turned to watch her walk away. Either her swaying hips or out of awe for the power she accredited herself to. Typical Nord..._

* * *

_..."I knew Irileth wouldn't fail me," Balgruuf said, with a smile. _

_The high elf dipped her head with a smile that made Irileth cold to the bone._

**Longest chapter ever...I apologise for the amount of memory in this chapt****er, I just couldn't stop. And I'm sorry it took me so long to write this but I've been extremely ill. Oh yeah, and if Irileth seems a bit of a wet rag in this, she has just realized she basically murdered her best friend and secret crush...I wish Balgruuf didn't have such a demented name. This would be so much easier to write if I wasn't snorting with laughter every five seconds.**


	5. Chapter 5, Decisions

_Chapter 5, Decisions_

"You," I told him, "Are the most insufferable, inflexible, arrogant, racist Nord I have ever met."

Ulfric smirked at me. "And you," he replied, placing one finger on my nose, "are a treacherous, conniving, power-hungry bitch only out to serve yourself." He trailed the finger down until it was on my lips. I bit it gently- not enough to draw blood.

We were lying together in Ulfric's private chambers in the Palace of Kings. A roaring fire crackled in the hearth, and the bed was piled high with comfortable furs. Ulfric lived simply, but everything was made of the finest quality and craftsmanship. I found I rather liked the simplistic elegance.

The walls were of stubborn grey stone, like the rest of Windhelm, but they were warmed by the fire. A cobalt rug with the Bear of Windhelm woven into it protected the feet from the wintry chill of cold stone. An oak dresser stood in one corner, nearby a studded wardrobe. There was a door leading off to Ulfric's bathing room. A mannequin stood in one corner, dressed up in Ulfric's armour. Normally, he wore it all the time, but I insisted he remove it when alone with me and it was safe. I disliked the cold, unforgiving surface of the cuirass.

Instead he was clad in the clothes he wore underneath his armour, a simple, but yet against of beautiful quality even I couldn't argue against, plain blue shirt and a pair of trousers. He was fond of blue.

My own armour was dumped by the side of the bed. I detested wearing it when I didn't have to. I was dressed very similarly to him, leather trousers, tight enough to not make a nuisance when putting on armour yet loose enough to be comfortable. My shirt was green and in a more feminine style. Our socked feet tussled together at the end of the bed.

I pouted. "That's harsh."

He chuckled, and stroked my hair. "What are you going to do?" He challenged, with a glint of mischief in his eyes, "Bite me?"

"Don't tempt me," I purred. He laughed again. He was so easily fooled.

Then his face turned serious. "I need you to go to Whiterun," he said, "There've been rumours...The people of Whiterun are not happy you killed their jarl."

I rolled my eyes. "What do you want me to do- scare them into submission?"

He snorted. "No, I need you to smooth relations between our people."

"Send one of your sweet-talkers then. The only thing I can smooth between people is the correct amount of fear." I told him dryly.

"You are one of my sweet-talkers," he replied, raising an eyebrow. "If you wanted to, you could charm the gold right out of the Emperor's pocket."

"If I wanted to," I repeated. I knew my eyes were glinting. "What's in it for me?"

"What about my undying admiration?" he asked me sarcastically.

I rolled my eyes and sniffed snobbishly. "Something I actually value, darling," I drawled in a very realistic impression of Elenwen, the Thalmor Ambassador.

For a moment his brows pulled together into a frown before he sighed irritably and with effort, forced himself to relax. "I hate it when you do that," he muttered.

"My apologies," I said sweetly, and completely insincerely.

He grunted disbelievingly. "What do you want then? Even though you are, technically, under my command."

I grinned. I could see the reflection of my fiery golden eyes in his. "Oh, if you're being _technical..._" Quicker than he could follow, I rolled over and pressed my teeth to his neck. "Then I'm a feral animal...and there is nothing to stop me tearing your throat out." I nipped him, just hard enough to deliver the warning behind my light-heartedness.

"Whoever said you weren't a feral animal?" he asked sourly.

My smirk grew wider. I stretched out, linking my arms behind his head. "How about...you step down and let me take your place as Jarl and leader of the rebellion?"

He quirked an eyebrow at me. "In what fantasy would you ever see me doing that?"

"The one that follows me enthralling you as my servant," I replied darkly.

He snorted. "And Galmar wouldn't notice."

"Galmar!" I huffed, and rolled off him to my previous position. "As you wish- let me kill Galmar, then."

"Next one," he said airily, linking his arms beneath his head.

For the second time, I pouted. "Ulfric!" I whined. "You are _stomping _on my dreams!"

He eyed me, and said, "Good."

I turned my face away and pretended to sulk.

He laughed at me, and rubbed my back.

"Apologise." I demanded archly.

"For what?"

"Ruining my life." I snapped, turning back to face him so he could see my smile. He stared at my dagger-sharp teeth. Gently, taking especial care not to prick himself, he touched them, tracing their shape. Was he addicted to danger? I caught his finger in my mouth, and nipped it. A small droplet of blood welled up.

"Hold still," he whispered. I quivered. I could smell the fresh blood. He lifted the bleeding finger to his own lips and stained them with his blood. I closed my eyes, curling my hands into fists. I wanted to rip his throat out and glory in the blood, but I forced myself to wait.

He kissed me, and I jumped into it, the blood on his lips zinging like fire. I felt him take hold of my arms, applying gentle pressure, reminding me to keep still. It was torture. To taste the blood- know it was there, but to force myself back...

It ended too quickly. I growled, drawing my lip over my teeth as I shook off his hands, lunged for him. I had lost all control, all thought, all clarity, all reason. All that existed was animal hunger, that same vampiric desire that had caused me to attack the grey-skin Irileth.

I screamed. Fire! Fire!

I beat at the candle flame he held to my neck, pushing myself back to get rid of it. The pain snapped me to my senses.

I pressed back into the furs, my eyes fixed unerringly on the candle flame. My neck felt sore and blistered.

"You know," Ulfric mused, "I'll really have to design some sort of thing to keep you still so I don't have to burn you all the time to stop you when you lose control."

"Ulfric," I whispered. "Please get that open candle away from my very flammable face."

"Oh," he put the candle back down on the bedside table quickly.

I conjured a healing spell and ran it over my sore neck. "Because no one would be suspicious if you suddenly decided to add a harness to your bed...think it through."

He leered at me. "I could always say it was for the ladies...Seeing as you, technically, count as one. Or I could just get Galmar to give you dental surgery with his war axe."

I gasped. "You wouldn't dare!"

"You'd be a lot less inclined to bite me with no teeth." Ulfric suggested innocently.

I glared at him.

"So, if you go to Whiterun and sort things out, then I won't have to book a free appointment for you with Galmar's axe," the Nord suggested, his eyes dancing.

I grumbled at him and rolled out of bed. "So be it...But do not expect a warm welcome from me when I return."

I jammed my feet into my shoes and gathered up my golden armour.

"I wasn't expecting it anyway- hugging you is like hugging a glacier, only twice as cold." He remarked as I stalked out.

I didn't bother to grace him with a reply.

_Nords._

**()**

For the longest time she just lay there, under the soil, breathing steadily through the flute. The sharp, discordant sound the flute made every time she exhaled was annoying, but Irileth didn't have the willpower to be angry.

Her sleep had been tormented by thoughts of Balgruuf- every memory, every moment, endlessly replayed in her mind. She didn't even care about the oppressive danger of lying under the clammy soil. She could feel her tears welling up in the corners of her eyes, and the slow, agonising trickle as it curved down her cheek, the minute shudder when it reached her ear. A shower of dirt cascaded around her from the movement.

Her heart ached.

It felt like a hole had been blown through her chest, a gigantic, gaping hole, and if she ever tried to move, she'd just break apart. She wanted to curl up in a ball and press her knees to her chest- try and reassure herself there was still something there, even if it was just a hollow shell. Every breath rasped in her throat, made her throb dully with pain.

She had always thought heartache was an exaggeration, but now she finally realised it was a true, physical thing. Constricting around her heart was a cage of briar thorns that sliced her with every guilt-laden thought.

_What do I do now? _She wondered hopelessly. She had no home to return to, and even if she did, it was doubtful they'd accept her. Not like this. Not a monster.

She had no family, and no friends. Her life had been dedicated to Balgruuf's protection, and yet on the day he had needed her most she had not been there for him.

Irileth considered her emotions. Other than her deep, aching grief, she was surprised to find a searing anger. She _wanted _to kill the dragonborn bitch responsible for Balgruuf's death. She wanted to rip her apart and destroy her, piece by piece.

Doubt besieged her. Could she do it? _Should _she do it? The Dragonborn, had, after all, been chosen, according to the Nords, by the Divines to slay the World-Eater. And the Altmer had defeated had defeated them all so easily...But having no world would be better than a world bending to that bitch! The heresy shocked her even as she thought it.

Contempt for her indecision rose, and a harsh smile danced on her lips, revealing her fanged teeth. Nothing mattered anymore other than the act itself. _The doing is the thing. _And what would give her more satisfaction than hunting the woman who had killed the man she would have given everything for?

A terrible energy and strength began to grow within her. It grabbed her emotions and forged them into a solid bar of fury stamped with one word- _revenge. _Her head pounded with conviction as she told herself, _I will do it._

She pushed aside the dirt that had so frightened her earlier in its confining embrace. Her body was tensed like a coiled spring. It was still sunset, the light stabbed at her sensitive eyes.

_Nothing is more dangerous than an enemy with nothing to lose, _she thought, _which is what I've become. _Yesterday she had been weak with hunger and grief, but now she moved confidently, held in place by her iron will. The pain from the light her body sent her was defied and ignored.

She paused for a moment and forced herself to focus. _I can't go back to Whiterun, the new jarl would have sent soldiers out to find me. The same for all of Whiterun Hold. I'll have to leave the Hold entirely...Then what?_

The entirety of that thorny difficulty stopped her in her tracks. Where could she go? Whichever town she went to, she would be hunted down and killed. She knew of no cure herself- and it was hardly as if she could simply ask the nearest guard for the cure to vampirism. They would more likely murder her than help her.

Unless...

She remembered hearing rumours of a vampire that had disguised herself among people in Morthal. Perhaps she could do the same...But where? She needed to become more skilled in order to defeat the Dragonborn, it was painfully obvious from their last encounter. And she needed to learn more about vampires.

Irileth had always loathed vampires, and she herself was no exception. Just the thought of forcing herself to survive this curse made her feel sick to her stomach. She despairingly contemplated suicide. But if not for her, who would kill the Dragonborn bitch? She was not a coward.

Irileth tried to remember all she knew about vampires. She knew they couldn't go out in the sun, and that they fed on blood to survive. From her own experience, she knew vampires could see in the dark. But what else?

_Why a vampire? _Irileth asked herself wryly. The one creature she had always loathed- leeching off others- blessed with woeful ignorance over their workings and powers...

Where could she go to find more about these creatures, and thus, cure herself? Where all lore was kept of strange magics and powers...

The College of Winterhold.


	6. Chapter 6, The First Hunt

**I'm so sorry for taking so long to update. But I've had NSS (new story syndrome) you know how it is...*sheepish grin***

_Pitiful._

It was almost embarrassing, to be frankly honest. The frightened citizens of Whiterun were far too quickly scared into submission. Though it probably had something to do with making public examples of those who dared defy me.

I wandered up the slippery stone steps towards the ruins of Jorrvaskr. I had ordered it be left untouched- bodies and all- as another example to Whiterun. I paused at the spot where I had drained the dark elf, and felt my hunger growl at the memory. There was still dried blood caked on the walls, and Irileth's sword lay discarded next to it. There were a few scraps of her leather armour as well, where I had ripped at it to get to her neck.

I hadn't meant to do that. It had been a pure mistake. But I had purposefully starved myself before the battle so I would have the most use of my powers. Not feeding made my senses sharper, made it easier for me to concentrate.

But when I had seen my victim lying there, helpless, stunned and dazed, with blood trailing down her cheek from a cut on her head, it had just killed all my self-control. I hadn't drunk for almost two weeks.

I glazed over a bit as I remembered grasping her shoulders, impatiently knocking her head aside. It had fallen against her shoulder, her eyes unfocused, staring at me helplessly. I had torn at her armour in my frenzy, until I could see her dark skin, and the thick vein in her neck. She had made a sound, a weak, pitiful little scream, when I had bit into her, the hot blood gushing into my mouth as the strength of her frightened heart forced the blood faster around her body.

She had been strong, I remembered with a smile. Her heart had gone, faster and faster, in a race with mine, refusing to give up. And how I had at last pulled myself from her pale body, her lack-lustre, unseeing eyes glazed over, with an aching cry, before she could pull me down with her into death.

I was glad I had remembered to tell the guards to dispose of the body. It would have been most inconvenient if someone were to get suspicious about Irileth's death. The people of Whiterun could not know I was a vampire.

I stepped over the splintered remains of the doorway and looked around the gloomy mead hall. The whole place reeked of the werewolves that had lived here and death. Noticing a dead body, I walked towards it. I easily identified the woman as Aela, with a sword plunged in her gut. Judging by her lack of clothing it was clear the soldiers had made her suffer before she died. Beside her sprawled a huge werewolf.

I knelt next to the wolf and looked into its glassy eyes. Farkas, undoubtedly. How sweet. Wolf boy protecting his girlfriend till his dying breath.

Vilkas' body was little more than char in the firepit. But Kodlak lay outside, alongside Athis and Ria, and arrow in Kodlak's eye, and a dagger in Athis' throat. Ria and Njoda appeared to have had the same fate as Aela. The Companions' maid, Tilma, had been nailed to the wall.

I wasn't surprised. I did tell them they could be especially brutal with the Companions, after all.

Meandering up to the Skyforge, I stared down into the cold firepit of the great forge. It had been silent since Eorlund's death. Maybe I should move Adrianne Avenicci up here. Skyforge steel had always been keener than that of a normal blade. I sighed and perched on a rock, gazing up at the stars.

They winked at me, glacial daggerpoints nestled in black velvet, the moon a pearly ring of biting teeth. A cool breeze played with the strands of my golden hair. The shadows felt soothing on my skin, and my dark fiery eyes had no difficulty piercing the gloom.

It would be dawn soon enough, I mused sadly. But at least, I thought, as I headed back down the steps towards the Underforge, I had made some progress. Whiterun's people were too divided to be able to muster up a strong enough rebellion. Not since the little Grey-Mane girl had gone missing, enthralled to my service.

I pushed open the stone door, heading into the cool darkness. My thralls awaited me, with their blank, black eyes. Lydia lay like a broken puppet on a bedroll, moaning quietly. "Sleep," she whispered, "Need to sleep."

"Shut up," I instructed her as I passed. She immediately closed her mouth.

The girl had passed out, but at least she had fulfilled her job. The basin was filled with dark, ruby blood. I took a cup from the shelf and dipped it into the dark liquid.

Lydia had made a fire, as I had told her to, by the base of the fountain. I had no particular wish to see the blood go cold. It wasn't particularly fresh, almost an hour cold, I reckoned, but it was better than going thirsty. I relaxed into the rich pile of furs and closed my eyes, sipping at my drink as I did so.

I slipped into the heady nightmares of my dreams, a ghostly phantom wandering the pale backdrops of my shadowed memories.

I stretched, opening my eyes. Darkness greeted me. I smiled, and turned my head. Lydia had passed out, and I could smell the rank stench of death- the Grey Mane girl. I wrinkled my nose in disgust. I did not linger in my bedroll, I had too much to do.

I fed on Lydia before waking her and telling her to get rid of the girl's body and cleanse my nest. I had no wish for the place to reek of decay.

Utilising the back tunnel that led from the Underforge outside Whiterun's gates, I made my way to the stream. Sunset was barely done, there remained a few pinpricks of light that stabbed at my eyes unpleasantly. Nonetheless I disrobed and stepped into the stream.

To any ordinary mortal it would have been as cold as ice. But to me, it felt familiar and warm. Comfortable. I washed, crushing up some soaproot between two rocks to lather in my short gold hair. It felt good to be clean again.

Though I detested lesser work of any sort, I cleaned also the armful of clothes I had brought with me from the Underforge. Lydia was too stupid to wash it correctly- more likely she'd let the expensive clothes float away.

Once I was done, I returned to my dark lair via the passage and redressed in a pair of comfortable leggings and a shirt, over which I belted some light and flexible armour. At my side, as always, was Elianthos, my blade, that had been in my family for generations and had been made by the ancient elven starsmiths themselves.

My wet hair annoyed me, but I pulled the hood around my face anyway to conceal my identity long enough for me to emerge from my chambers in Dragonsreach with another lie about the separate time zones in Windhelm.

Blending easily with the shadows, I crept out of my hideaway and towards the crumbled wall around Jorrvaskr. I vaulted over it and hugged the side of the wall, ducking behind the Talos statue, as I checked for guards.

None, I was clear.

With grace that any smart person would know was vampiric, I pulled myself up onto the stone steps and scuttled up them, quick, darting, from pool of shadow to shadow like a moth at a war camp.

From there, it was simple to latch onto the window I'd left open yesterday evening and haul myself inside. Once inside my room, I headed quickly to the mirror and exchanged my disreputable armour for a fine gown, and brushed out my still damp hair. Fixing a circlet around my brow, I waited.

As usual, a knock came upon the door- telling me the appointed jarl of Whiterun had tired to wait for me and had sent a servant to 'wake' me.

I threw open the door just before the servant could push it open and tell me the meeting was adjourned, smiled brightly at him, and walked quickly to seduce the Jarl into staying loyal like a good little thrall.

Business was business, afterall.

((()))

Irileth stalked silently through the dark night. She paused in the shade of a tree, her bright golden eyes flitting around with shocking and unnerving speed. She breathed in, her delicate nose sorting through the scents blowing to her through the caressing wind.

The night welcomed her with open arms into its shadowy folds. The moon above was dim and obscured by soft grey, but her vampire eyes had cleared and pierced the gloom with ease. The chill of the icy winter that never quite relinquished its grip on the harsh land of Skyrim was like a fellow predator in the darkened night, a friend that neither bothered nor engaged her. A prodigal daughter returned at last to the shadows' loving embrace.

A breeze skated across her bared skin. She dug her sharpened nails into the crevices in the tall pine tree she stood beside and climbed, rapidly ascending up the trunk like one of the forest cats in Valenwood.

Nimbly she slunk up onto a protruding branch, gripping the harsh bark beneath her feet. She sucked in a deep breath of cool calm air and searched the prevalent shady pools of black clinging to the tree trunks. The glimmer of the moonlight on the lake caught her eye, and cocking her head, she studied it.

Everything was so clear, so bright, so wonderful. Irileth had never seen true beauty before, could never comprehend the wonder in being the hunter, the predator hiding among the unsuspecting prey, the cold, icy beauty of a Skyrim night.

But she was not here to admire the glacial splendour of the hunting ground. No, she was here to attempt to embrace her new vampire nature and learn more about her new powers.

But first...she needed to hunt.

She had experienced the change to a stage two vampire. It had been a painful, burning experience she did not wish to undergo again. She had taken life before, she could do it again. And she was so very thirsty. She felt like the back of her throat burned, flames licking at the parched skin. She breathed in, sniffing at the air.

She shifted on her branch with excitement as the most delicious scent tickled her nose. She sighed, unconsciously arching her back as she scanned the forest.

Her muscles bunching, she leapt from the tree and caught another branch easily, swinging quickly from that and caught another, faster, faster, closer, closer...

She dropped from the tree, quivering with anticipation. Any part of Irileth was gone now, overtaken by this feral, seductive creature that could smell the blood, smell the human blood pulsing, warm, hot...

A man, she could tell, a man, at the perfect age, not too young, not too old, _hers. _

His mouthwatering scent was all around her, spiking her excitement. She moved closer, sticking to the shadows, and saw the bright flicker of his fire, the dark blot of the tent.

She whined, whipping her head back and forth, digging her nails into the soil. The hunter snapped around, his hand flying to his knife. He gasped when he saw her.

She approached him, straightening up, unable to hide the way her eyes stared at his pulse, throbbing, thrumming in his neck. So close now, so very close.

"Hello, pretty," he said gruffly, "What are you doing out here?"

The vampire sidled near and curved her arms sensuously around the hunter's neck. "Hunting," she purred.

"Oh really?" he tested, a grin on his face. "What are you hunting?"

A slow, terrible smile curved her lips, revealing her fangs. The man started.

"You," she whispered, and went for the kill.

((()))

The vampire stared down at the drained, pale corpse with a horrid fascination. The man's face was still contorted in a grimace of incredible ecstasy they had both experienced as she had killed him. The burn in her throat was gone now, and she felt warm and tingling and shockingly alive. She had never felt this good before. Alive, strong, invincible, vivacious and buzzing with vibrancy. She felt a desperate desire to bend to the throat of the white, shrunken corpse and drink again, but the blood was thick, cold and congealed. She knew without smelling it she could not drink further once he was dead.

She had stripped him of his clothes- it wasn't as if he needed them anymore. They stank and were so stiff they stood up by themselves, but rigorous washing had cleansed most of the stench from the light fur armour.

Wincing, she eased her weight onto her other leg. The hunter, though surprised, had managed to score a long, shallow hit on her thigh. The iron dagger he had used was belted at her waist.

She was now the owner of a lot of different hides ready for marketing, sixty-five septims, thirteen iron arrows, a long bow, a patched hide tent and a copy of the Lusty Argonian Maid.

Deciding she needed to move, Irileth grabbed the pale corpse and with one heave, threw it into the lake. The body floated, but Irileth knew Skyrim's scavengers would eat it before long.

_I'm a monster, _she thought with some little amusement and horrific disgust. _A parasite._

But at least she was alive.

Little could the hunter say the same.

**I'm sorry again it's so short but I had to update...**


End file.
